


You Left Me Haunted

by ApolloAttraction



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan is restless in the middle of the night and seeks out Kavinsky for some kind of distraction.</p><p>*Takes place in an AU where Kavinsky and Ronan agree to stop dreaming</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Left Me Haunted

Tonight, Ronan's body is as restless as his mind. Every time he stills, it feels like his skin is itching and crawling and vibrating. It's like he's been electrocuted. He paces his room, trying to wear himself out. He still feels frenzied.

Chainsaw hops from one side of his bed to the other as he makes another circuit around his room. Her feathers are puffed and she keeps tilting her head back and forth.

He can tell that she feels how irritable he is. He stops at the foot of the bed and reaches out to brush a finger over the soft feathers above her beak. She makes a small cawing noise. He imagines she's asking _'Are you done now?'_

“Damn it,” he curses softly as he feels nervous energy start to bubble up inside him again.

“ _Kerah,_ ” Chainsaw answers. It almost sounds like she sighs just before she flaps her wings and settles on his shoulder.

“I'll be back,” He assures her as he makes his way across the room and places her in her cage.

She leans forward and rests her beak on one of the horizontal bars of the cage. He watches her head tilt up at him and for a moment all he can see is the same judgmental look he's been catching from Gansey and Parrish for the last two months. ' _I know where you're going'_ she seems to say.

He runs a finger absently over her beak and then grabs his car keys from the nightstand and heads out into the night.

Kavinsky's place isn't that far. When he pulls up to the mansion, he shuts his car off and hesitates in the driveway. He takes out his phone and sends a quick text: _I'm here._ It's an after-thought. He wonders if Kavinsky is even awake.

He stares at the mansion in front of him as he waits. In the weak moonlight, the structure seems indisputably fragile. It's stark white walls and peaked roofs remind him of a house of cards. He can't think of a better place for this tenuous _thing_ he has with Kavinsky to exist.

His phone buzzes: _you know where the key is_

Ronan lets himself in with a spare key that had been carefully hidden under a cherub statue. He walks quietly through the living room- past where Mrs. Kavinsky is passed out on the couch- and to the door to the basement.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Kavinsky mocks idly from where he slouches in one of the theater seats.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Ronan says distastefully as he walks across the room to the fridge and grabs a beer.

Kavinsky barks a laugh and wipes the blood onto the side of his hand. He stares at it for a moment, flexing and moving his fingers so that the blood moves across his skin. He's not wearing his sunglasses and Ronan can see that his gaze is unsteady and dreamy.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Ronan hisses. “How fucking out of it are you?”

Kavinsky's eyes snap to Ronan, as if he'd just realized he was there. He wipes the blood off on his jeans. He gestures to the beer in Ronan's hands, just then noticing it. “Help yourself,” he says sarcastically.

“I already did,” Ronan retorts.

“Cunt,” Kavinsky spits.

Ronan raises his middle finger at him, “Douche.”

It lacks the usual punch and venom that they sling at each other.

Ronan grunts and starts to pace the room. This isn't what he had in mind when he'd decided to leave Monmouth. He's still restless. He takes a sip of the beer. “Is your mom as coked out as you are or did you slip her a pill?”

Kavinsky shifts and produces a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. “The bitch was flinging plates across the living room like they were frisbees.” He sticks the cigarette between his teeth and lights it before offering the pack to Ronan. When Ronan simply rolls his eyes and continues to pace, Kavinsky laughs. “God, it kills me every time when I see how well Dick Cubed's got you trained.”

“Screw you,” Ronan growls and sets the bear down on an out of place table.

“Someone's touchy tonight,” Kavinsky chuckles as he leans forward to pick up a bottle of Vodka sitting at his feet. “What's got your panties in a twist, Princess? Did you and Third have a spat?”

He takes a swig of the vodka just as Ronan lunges at him. Ronan fists the straps of Kavinsky's tank top and pulls him face to face as the Vodka spills out onto his hands. “You know,” Ronan starts, voice sharp and dangerous. “You talk a lot about Gansey for someone who wants _my_ dick.”

Kavinsky's eyes narrow, “Maybe I'm moving on to someone better.”

Ronan's hands clench tighter in the fabric of Kavinsky's shirt. There's a hundred biting retorts behind his lips, but they all feel like lies. In the end, he just shoves Kavinsky back hard enough that his head ricochets off the back of the chair. “Fuck this,” Ronan hisses and turns sharply. He's halfway to the door when he hears Kavinsky's laugh cut through the air, loud and unrelenting. Ronan turns to face him, seething, “What's so fucking funny?

“You are,” Kavinsky spits. “This little self-hate spiral you're locked up in.”

“Yea?” Ronan challenges. “What the Hell do you know anyway?”

Kavinsky smirks and Ronan wants to punch it off his face. “You're so god damned transparent. The only thing about you that's worthwhile is your _dream stuff_ and you can't do that anymore without ruining your friends' stupid quest. And it's Eating. You. Up.” He laughs again and taps the ash from his cigarette off onto the armrest.

Ronan stalks across the room and seizes the straps of Kavinsky's tank top again. Ronan hauls him to his feet just to punch him and watch him fall flat on his ass. “You don't know shit.”

“Yea, sure,” Kavinsky starts as he sits up and rubs his hand across his cheek. “I bet Dickie boy relates real well to what it's doing to you. Or maybe your little redneck sunspot-”

“Leave him out of this,” Ronan growls and steps forward like he might jerk him to his feet and punch him again.

Kavinsky's eyes narrow at him. “You're such a piece of work.”

“Shut up,” Ronan hisses, already knowing that he'd given himself away.

“If I'd known trailer trash was your type, I wouldn't have bothered,” Kavinsky says as he climbs to his feet. “Too bad you're not _his_ type.”

Something in Ronan snaps and all the nervous energy in him results in another fist flying at Kavinsky. It doesn't connect. Kavinsky ducks the blow and lands an elbow in Ronan's stomach instead. Ronan grunts and slams his knee up into Kavinsky's side. Kavinsky falls back, but not before sinking his nails into Ronan's arm and dragging him down with him. They tumble across the floor scratching and punching and kicking at each other until Kavinsky pins Ronan under him and throws a punch that gets no response.

“Come on, _Lynch,_ ” Kavinsky sneers.

“Fuck you,” Ronan says as he glares up at Kavinsky.

Kavinsky hits him again, though it doesn't have as much force.

Ronan's bottom lips is split and the new hit make blood seep out the cut. His tongue flicks out to clean up the blood. He catches the way that Kavinsky watches him do it. “Hit me again,” Ronan challenges.

Kavinsky's eyes narrow. He brings his fist up and swings at Ronan.

Ronan's arm snatches out to grab Kavinsky's wrist at the same time that his leg swings up and over Kavinsky so that it knocks him off balance. After that, it's all just a matter of momentum in order to flip their position. Ronan is heavier and it's easier to maintain control, even as Kavinsky squirms beneath him and claws at his shoulders to try and get the upper hand back.

Ronan watches him with a sadistic smirk. He endures the scratches and slaps and insults hurled at him. When Kavinsky goes to punch him, he catches Kavinsky's wrists and pins it. Kavinsky tries again with the other hand and Ronan pins it as well.

Kavinsky spits at him and it lands on the strap of his black muscle tank. “I never pictured you as a _top_ ,” Kavinsky sneers.

“Do you ever shut your mouth, K?” Ronan hisses; his grip on Kavinsky's wrists tightens.

Kavinsky winces. It doesn't stop his retort. “I prefer to keep it open, just in case you need me, babe.” He thrusts his hips up against Ronan's.

Ronan presses back, more to keep him still than anything. He doesn't miss the way that Kavinsky's breath hitches when he does. He leans down until their noses are nearly touching and asks, “What if I need you _now_?”

Kavinsky's eyes go wide, then they narrow. “Don't fuck with me, Lynch,” he says, voice low and icy.

Ronan leans down and presses his lips against Kavinsky's throat. It feels wrong and dangerous- like he's playing with fire. It feels _satisfying_. “I Thought that's what you wanted,” he murmurs and punctuates it with a nip to Kavinsky's adam's apple. There's silence in reply. Ronan lets go of Kavinsky's hands and starts to sit back.

Kavinsky lashes out and grabs Ronan's shirt before he even realizes what he's doing. He holds on to it and looks up at Ronan, searching his face. After a few tense seconds, his brows lower and knit together. “It's just this, isn't it?” he asks. “This is all I can get from you, right?”

Ronan feels guilt twist in his gut. “K, I didn't-”

“No,” Kavinsky stops him. He's heard it before. His hands leave Ronan's shirt and rest on his neck instead. He runs his thumb over Ronan's jaw line and meets his eyes. “I'll take it,” he says fiercely and defiantly- daring Ronan to try and take back the offer.

Ronan closes the space between them and kisses him. It's slow and sweet and unfitting of either of them. Kavinsky bites Ronan's bottom lip right where it's split. The pain is instantaneous and Ronan pulls back. “What the fuck?” he hisses.

“Don't kiss me like you'd kiss _him_ ,” Kavinsky growls.

“How _else_ am I supposed to kiss you, then?” Ronan says angrily.

“Figure it out!” Kavinsky replies as his hand fall to Ronan's shoulders. He digs his nails in. “I know you're not a one-trick-pony.”

Ronan knocks his hands off his shoulders and surges forward to mash their mouths together. The force of it sends Kavinsky back onto the ground with Ronan following right after. This kiss is rougher and dirtier. There's too many teeth and too much spit. Kavinsky seems to love it as he arches up into Ronan.

They pull apart for air and Kavinsky gasps out, “That's what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah, now stop talking,” Ronan says and dips his head to kiss the underside of Kavinsky's jaw.

“Make me,” Kavinsky says and Ronan comes back up to kiss him again. This time it's more refined. There's less clanking of teeth and more tongue. Kavinsky doesn't seem to care as he returns it and lets his hands wander down to grab Ronan's ass.

As they kiss and roll against each other, Ronan's hand sneaks between their bodies and under Kavinsky's shirt. He runs his fingers lightly up Kavinsky's ribs and settles it on his chest. He rolls his thumb over Kavinsky's nipple and grins when Kavinsky moans in response. The kiss breaks again and Ronan pushes his hand up, pulling the shirt with it until Kavinsky gets the hint and pulls it all the way off.

Ronan ducks his head to kiss Kavinsky's chest. He bites down on one pec and swears he can hear Kavinsky _mewl_ when he starts to suck on it. He grins to himself and leaves another hickey just above it and then a final one high on Kavinsky's neck- where he can't hide it. Ronan pulls back to admire his work. Kavinsky is flushed and panting with pupils blown wide with desire. “Wow,” he breathes and runs his hands up over Kavinsky's sides again.

Kavinsky shivers in response and rolls his hips up against Ronan. As their hips brush together, he can't help but moan. Ronan smirks and pushes back down against him, grinding their erections together. “Fuck,” Kavinsky curses and writhes under him.

“Hey, wait,” Ronan says and places a hand on his hip. “Do you really want to come in your pants?”

Kavinsky groans. “Of course I fucking don't, but you're-”

Ronan kisses him again, just long enough to shut him up while his hands work on the button to his pants. It doesn't take long to get both sets of jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, and pushed just far enough down their thighs that they were out of the splash zone.

Ronan takes both of their erections into his hand and starts to jerk them off together. It's sloppy and shaky and there's not quite enough lubricant.

“At least spit on your hand or something,” Kavinsky orders.

“Shut up,” Ronan says with minor exasperation as he drags his fingers through their precome, trying to ease the friction.

Kavinsky's nails dig into his shoulder's and then scrape down the blades before they snag in the fabric of his shirt. “Why didn't you take your shirt off?” Kavinsky snaps and buries his nails deeper in Ronan's skin.

“Are you going to complain about everything?” Ronan growls and thrusts so hard against his hand and Kavinsky that they stutter up a few centimeters of the floor.

“If you did it right, I wouldn't,” Kavinsky tells him.

Ronan kisses him. It's rough and annoyed but when he breaks it Kavinsky is grinning up at him. Ronan let's go of their cocks and moves down Kavinsky's body leaving bitemarks and hickeys along his path. As he hovers over Kavinsky's stomach he looks up to see him watching intently. When Ronan takes him into his mouth Kavinsky's head tips back and his breathing stutters. He groans, “Fuck.” As Ronan bobs along his cock, his hands skitter across his shaved scalp until hey find purchase on the back of his neck. Kavinsky mutters a long list of swears- not all of them in english- and rolls his hips up, chasing Ronan's mouth when he pulls away. “God, don't stop Ro' Please,” he begs as Ronan starts to move back up his body.

Ronan takes them both back into his hand and smirks at the small, needy noise that Kavinsky makes. “You're such a pillow princess,” Ronan laughs and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“Fuck you,” Kavinsky grits out, but it loses most of it's impact as he grabs Ronan's shirt and pulls him as close as he can.

“Stop it; it'll get on my shirt if we're this close,” Ronan tells him, though his hand doesn't slow down as he strokes them.

“You should have taken it off,” Kavinsky laughs and Ronan shivers as he feels his hot breath roll across his collar bone.

Ronan groans and jerks them faster. It feels like there's a knotted string in his chest that someone is pulling from either side, making the knot tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. Kavinsky moaning his name and wrapping his arms around his neck as he comes is the snap. Ronan is shuddering through his own orgasm seconds later.

They lie together sticky and sweaty and exhausted for a few minutes. Kavinsky trails his fingers over Ronan's biceps and along his arms. When Ronan looks at him he can tell that the coke wore off a while ago; Kavinsky looks sad.

With Adam, Ronan could at least plaster up some of the fracture lines he saw. With Kavinsky, he _was_ one of the fractures and there was no way to fix the others without making his own worse.

“I'm going,” Ronan says softly and stands up. He turns away from Kavinsky as he adjusts his pants back into place and investigates the damage to his shirt.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Kavinsky spits, but when Ronan turns back around he sees that Kavinsky is already standing back up and wiping himself off with his discarded tank.

“What?” Ronan asks sarcastically, “Did you think we'd cuddle?”

“Maybe I did, fuckface,” Kavinsky says as he moves across the room to pick up his sunglasses from the strangely out of place table.

Ronan is taken back by how honest the retort seems to be.

When he doesn't reply, Kavinsky snorts and picks up his cigarette from where it had fallen to the floor. “Go home, _Lynch,”_ he says as he puts the cigarette between his teeth and starts to relight it. “You know where to find me when you need to get _that_ out of your system again.”

“K, you _knew-”_ Ronan starts.

“I said go home,” Kavinsky starts, speaking loud and angrily. “Before I decide to drag your ass out of here myself.”

Ronan laughs. “As if, you prick.” But he still walks toward the door. He stops with his hand on the door knob and looks back to Kavinsky. 

Kavinsky doesn't look back at him. Instead, his eyes are focused on a line of white powder that he's straightening up on the misplaced table. He's all sharp lines and irritableness as he moves and Ronan thinks that should look dangerous but he can't reconcile that idea with the Kavinsky he's seen break over and over again.He turns the door knob and heads back upstairs- back into the night- and back to Monmouth. 

The restlessness is gone and he feels grounded as he takes Chainsaw from her cage. She makes a soft clicking noise and rubs her head against his hand as he leans back on his bed.  _ Are you okay? _

“I'm fine,” he tells her and gently draws his fingers over her plumage. He wonders if anyone has ever asked Kavinsky if he was 'Okay.' He thinks about doing that the next time that they meet up, but he's pretty sure he knows the answer and there's nothing he can do to change it.

His phone buzzes and he looks at it with a small smile when he reads the message.  _ If you ever leave another mark that high, I will d e s t r o y you. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have Lily Blue, Blue Lily but I can't get past the first few pages because I'm still mourning Kavinsky and What could have been. So, I decided I would write something.
> 
> I don't usually write porn and I don't know how this happened. 
> 
> The title comes from The Pursuit by Evan's Blue https://youtu.be/Ptfgca6SKH0  
> I'm debating making a few more stories in this verse because, well, I listened to an Evan's Blue playlist while I wrote this and it was a minefield of Rovinsky Ideas.


End file.
